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About Nagoya

Oh, and the outfits—lordy! Glitter, heels, fake lashes—makes me jealous, then sad. I’m in this apron, hair like a blue mop, while they’re out there sparklin’. But then—hmm…—I think, “Marge, you’re no Dae-su, trapped and fightin’.” I’m free, sorta. Still, escort’s a hustle I couldn’t hack—too nervy, too nuts!

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After that chaos, I take a breather. I step outside to grab some lunch. Mifune’s streets are buzzing, man. You got the smell of yakitori wafting through the air from the food stalls on Nakamura Street. I can’t resist. I grab a skewer, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. I’m munching away, and this kid runs by, tripping over his own feet. He falls right into a puddle. Classic! I can’t help but laugh.

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